“I think wealth has lost much of its value if it have not wine,” Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote. Good man, Ralph. I’ve often wondered which wine first seduced him.

The word “seduction” has gotten a bad rep of late. It smacks of Casanova calculation and cougar-like stealth. It’s nothing of the sort, of course. Seduction is figuring out what might attract someone else.

Recently, I seduced someone to fine wine. This is not as easy as you might think, especially if you’re already among the smitten.

Anyway, the genius guy who works on my computer saw all the bottles in my house and office. He professed interest. So I started giving him a few introductory wines – nothing special, just a variety of bland (to me) merlots and chardonnays. I figured that would be a good start. I figured wrong. He wasn’t moved.

There was a lesson here. And I took it. If you want to “sell” somebody, you’ve got to show them something irresistible. So I reached into my cellar and pulled out a bottle of 2002 Coteaux du Layon “Clos Ste. Catherine,” Domaine des Baumard ($35.99 at Chambers Street Wines,160 Chambers St.,212-227-1434).

Here was the sneaky part: I didn’t tell him it was a sweet wine. As soon as someone knows a wine is sweet they say, “I don’t like sweet wines.” This is because some of the worst wines we’ve all had were junk stuff with a lot of residual sugar to make up for flavor vacuity.

So I said nothing. And I waited. Sure enough, the next time I saw him, he said, “You know that last wine you gave me? I pulled the cork on it and handed my wife a glass. She said, ‘It’s sweet!’ Boy, was I surprised.”

Then came the kicker. “That was incredible wine,” he enthused. “I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s not just sweet, you know. There was something more there. My wife really liked it. What the hell was it, anyway?”

So I gave him the song and dance about Coteaux du Layon, about chenin blanc, about acidity in wine, even about terroir. For once, his eyes didn’t glaze over. He was hooked.

It got me thinking about the world’s most seductive wines, so I started coming up with a list. Reds are tough because tannins are a turnoff. It won’t surprise you to learn, therefore, that, among red wines, my top choice is pinot noir.

Now, some might point to merlot, noting rightly that an awful lot of casual wine drinkers gravitate to it. But that proves nothing. It’s usually just inoffensive, like a country-club joke. (There are a few really compelling merlot wines, all of which are expensive, such as the absurdly overpriced Chateau Petrus at $600, Beringer Bancroft Ranch Merlot on Howell Mountain in Napa Valley at $75, and the very impressive Italian merlot from Feudi di San Gregorio called Patrimo for $130.)

Pinot noir is a different story. The “I’ve seen the light!” hosannas to pinot noir are legion. But even here, I’d say that if you’ve got seduction in mind, I’d advise something like Chambolle-Musigny or Volnay. It’s the perfume that does it: And these are the two most fragrant pinots on the planet. (Try such waftingly lovely beauties as Chambolle-Musigny 2002, Domaine J.F. Mugnier for $49.99 at Zachys or Volnay Premier Cru 2002, Domaine d’Angerville for $35.95 at Sherry-Lehmann.)

Other red-wine contenders include – this will surprise you – a mature Barolo. A young one is too tannic and tight, but a mature Barolo, served with food, delivers that requisite perfuminess like few other reds. I’ve seen it work, so I know it’s so. (Italian Wine Merchants at 108 E. 16th St., between Park Avenue South and Lexington Avenue, has an extensive selection of older Barolos.)

What about whites? A little sweetness helps, as previously described, although it’s not essential. Riesling has got to be the ideal ticket. A mature German riesling from the Mosel, for example – a traditional spatlese is ideal – has got it all: perfumed fruitiness with a “I never knew wine could be like this!” uniqueness.

Chardonnay works, but not as often as one might imagine. (See merlot.) Really, you’ve got to pull out one of the big burgundies to do it, something like a Corton-Charlemagne, which delivers unmistakable fruit intensity allied with rock-licking minerality. One of the reliable great producers is Domaine Bonneau du Martray. (The best deal in town comes from Sherry-Lehmann, 679 Madison Ave. between 61st and 62nd streets, 212-838-7500, which still offers the superb 1999 Corton-Charlemagne at $54.95 and the stunning 2001 at $59.95.)

Not least are the Loire Valley’s rich (rather than merely sweet) chenin blancs, such as Vouvray, Coteaux du Layon, Bonnezeaux, and arguably the greatest of all, Quarts de Chaume. They’re light on the palate (unlike, say, Sauternes) yet deliver a penetrating flavor and a wafting, come-hither fragrance of quince, anise, rocks, and wildflowers. (Chambers Street Wines is the city’s most impassioned Loire wine retailer.)

What about the most famous seduction wine of all, champagne? Nah, I don’t think so. Sure, champagne has style and panache. You could get lucky. But it was Volnay that got me married. Champagne merely helped the, er, negotiations.